


Life on the Murder Family Scene

by PuppyWillGraham



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Hannigram - Freeform, Ignis - Will's wendigo, M/M, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, The Lecter Bunch - mentions, Wendigo, Willdigo, any warnings in chapter titles, canon compliant morphing into an AU behemoth, creative writing, dark!Will, non-descriptive mentions of rape - TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 14,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppyWillGraham/pseuds/PuppyWillGraham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vast collection of Twitlonger solos/replies originally posted via my Will Lecter (née Graham) Twitter RP account, @StalkedByStags, from early 2013 (canon) to the present (completely AU).</p><p>[[Twitter RP collection -- main focus on Will Graham P.OV (both first and third), with some mentions of hannigram, and brief mentions of The Lecter Bunch, the children Will and his Hannibal have adopted (Jacob Knoll, James Beauregard, Nathan Sharman and Cameron Adamski), along with Abigail Hobbs.]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [25th | 26th | 27th June 2013 -- replies / canon compliant]

Will makes his way through the woods slowly, trying to keep his eyes open and his footfalls steady. His heart thrummed in his chest, the blood rushing to his ears. He was unable to stop the sensation; even though it made him feel sick and dizzy.

He was tired and his whole body ached; he didn't know when he'd last slept through the night without interruption, but he couldn't sleep, he just couldn't, not with the nightmares steadily getting worse, becoming more realistic every time he closed his eyes.

Reality was becoming more distorted and he honestly couldn't tell what was real and what was not.

"God, please, no, just... Breathe, Will, breathe." He muttered under his breath as he paused for a moment, leaning against an old oak that must have been close to fifty years old, his hands trembling as he ran them over his face repeatedly, attempting to stop the dizzy spell that was making him want to throw up.

\--

Will started making his way through the woods again once the dizzy spell was over; he was grateful that it wasn't like the night before, and that he could actually stand for more than a few moments without the world seeming to tip on its axis. He breathed out through his nose slowly, being careful not to move too fast, his head starting to ache, a dull thudding sensation that wouldn't cease and he often managed to just about ignore it; although it was always there.

\--

Will cast his mind back to the last session he'd had with [@HannibalLecterB] as he made his way through the woods and came to a slight clearing, his mind drifting from topic to topic that he'd discussed with the Doctor.

He tapped his chin as he stilled for a moment, just looking up at the dusk sky, the purples that were beginning to darken into a deep blue, almost black, almost reminding him of Lecter's maroon eyes, always on him, watching him, gauging his reaction.

Will tried hard, and mostly succeeded, when it came to keeping a lid on his emotions and keeping an expressionless facade; but when it came down to Dr. Lecter and their one-to-one sessions, it seemed to be a waste of time for Will to even try.

\--

Will yawned again, his mind flickering between the sky and [@HannibalLecterB], before shaking his head and muttering to himself, "maybe I should see Dr Lecter again, I haven't been to a session in a while. It might help..."

Will didn't like talking to himself when he was out and about, even if he found it helped him in any case, but he didn't worry about being overheard in the wooded area he was now pacing through again. He knew that it was empty and that he was the only one who usually walked through it this late at night.

He stifled another yawn as he found himself at his door again, opening it and walking through into the only safe haven he knew. He honestly felt like his house was like a little boat. He liked boats. They made him feel secure, and as he came to his phone, he picked it up and found himself dialling Dr Lecter's office number.

\--

Will cupped his cheek as he murmured into the phone at [@HannibalLecterB], "Good evening, Dr Lecter. I'm sorry to call so late but I was just wondering, as I haven't had a session with you in so long, perhaps I could... Y'know, have one with you, now?"

\--

Will places the phone down after calling for the taxi, before quickly going upstairs to take a shower and change into clean clothes. After he finishes getting ready, he hears the door bell ringng and goes to open the door, making his way to the taxi, getting in, and giving directions to the driver of Lecter's office.

\--

Will arrived outside Lecter's office quicker than he thought he would; or maybe it was the fact that he'd nearly fallen asleep during the ride, the gentle motion of it lulling him into what he knew was a false sense of security. He got out of the taxi, rubbing his eyes one hand as he placed the correct amount of change in the driver's hand, before making his way to the door, ringing the bell once.

\--

Will looks up at his unofficial psychologist as the door opens, a distracted expression woven into the panes of his face as he enters, being careful not to brush against Lecter even by accident. "Thanks for seeing me so late."

\--

Will sat down on the chair he was appointed and faced Dr. Lecter, his face almost crumpling, but Graham managed to keep a straight face, just. He nodded in answer, mumbling, "I can't sleep, I can't... I can't do anything without getting these headaches, they won't stop." The words come out in a rush and Will blinks once when he finishes, feeling slightly relief of pressure as they're aired.


	2. [25th | 26th | 27th June 2013 -- replies / canon compliant]

"Oh, Jack. And I don't exactly dispute the fact, no." Will cast a sideways glance towards [@Hannibal_Risen], about a million thoughts running through his head at once.

He hated asking for help, it was one of the things he just wasn't accustomed to, but if Lecter was offering, then what harm could it do?

His fingers ran over his forearms as he loosened the grip of his folded arms, not becoming unguarded in Dr. Lecter's presence exactly, but more... Aware.

He nodded once and mumbled, "I don't see what harm it'll do."

\--

Will watched as Lecter pushed himself up, almost in a lithe movement that made him pause for a moment, almost not hearing what the doctor was saying to him. He backtracked over what Lecter was saying, mumbling an agreement as he held out his hand for a pen.

"I guess I'll just have to acquire a taste for therapy sessions now, won't I?" Graham allowed a brief, almost flash of a smile, that Lecter would've missed in a blink if he hadn't been watching the shorter man with as much attention as he had been, before it was gone.

\--

Will understood where Lecter was coming from, about the symptoms and everything else about what was going on in his mind, coming from him rather than Jack, but it didn't stop him from feeling a little awkward.

"Well, to be quite honest, I'm confused as to what's going on in my mind myself so I don't know if I'll actually be of any help to you, Doctor." Will mused sadly as he took a seat, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hand cupping his forehead, the headache still not abating.

\--

Will couldn't help but stare at Dr. Lecter, the headache a dull thud in his temples, and he sighed softly as he murmured, "I just... It's everywhere, all inside my head, I can't make it stop, it's like a constant drilling inside my skull."

Rather than taking the older man's advice and moving his hand to the parts where the headache hurt the most, -he wasn't one for unnecessary touch and if he was completely honest with himself he couldn't help but over-think about what Dr. Lecter was actually trying to do; he knew, deep down, he was just trying to help him, it was the whole point of the session after all, but at that present moment in time, Will didn't see it that way- he pointed to his temples with his own fingers.

He felt the sweat now, his breathing uneven as he tried to stay focused on the man before him, the edges of his vision smearing a little before he blinked, the smearing sensation gone.

\--

Will attempted to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, it barely working, but it did work. He felt the cool of the glass against his temple and closed his eyes for a moment.He struggled to get his thoughts in order, "I.. I can't think, the last one was... I--"

Will ran his fingers through his hair, his mind clouded, and he tapped his knee with the fingers of his other hand in an unsteady and uneven rhythm before whispering; "Please... Help me."


	3. [28th August 2013 -- AU solo - flashback + AU back story]

Will could feel it all crumbling; his resolve, the mental wall in his mind that he'd built over years of trying to avoid remembering everything that had ever been flung his way, the mental bricks of the wall that were now disintegrating right before his very eyes, and he found he was powerless to stop it; the catalyst from knocking against the long line of metaphorical domino's.

He was sat, or rather slumped, against a tree in the wooded area near his home. Home... Such a strange concept to understand. Home is where the heart is. Wasn't that what people said? Hand in hand with "home" was a strong unit, like the pack of dogs Will had collected over the past few months, and the unit was family. Another concept he struggled to get his head around.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like he'd belonged in a family unit, not a family unit that was bound by blood. His body shuddered as a slow trickle of memories and flashbacks flickered through his mind. He felt himself slipping, then, unable to stop himself from thinking back to the start. The start of his downfall, probably the start of his first experience of insanity.

His mind clawed back to his sixteenth birthday. He remembered it clearly, like it was yesterday. Will was unresponsive to the outer world, trapped in his own mind until he could find the strength to claw himself back out of it again, to grab at anything. But, alas, he had to search through his memories now, and search he did.

Back to his sixteenth birthday, his mother sitting at the opposite end of the table, bound in a wheelchair and his present self felt the sharp jolt of pain riding up and down his spine as he remembered her last dying breath, her last wish, "don't let him do what he's done to me, William, please. Take care of yourself, run, before it's too late."

He'd had no idea at the time what his mother had been warning him of, but as his seventeenth birthday had fast approached, and his mother's memory was now just a ghost in the home that he lived in, it became apparent that he was about to become a victim, a victim like his mother, to his father.

It had been an early morning, a Sunday, if he remembered correctly, and he exhaled slowly as it all pushed into the small corners of his mind, his head screaming at the fact his mind was breaking, cracking, dissolving until he could only be a victim to the memories of betrayal and anguish, torture. That first Sunday started it all. He'd been summoned down to breakfast, and with a sick feeling in his stomach, he felt the first tendrils of foreboding and impending doom.

His instinct had been precise, and as he'd been backed up against the wall next to the refrigerator, the knife slicing through his clothes and down his sternum, the heavy thrum of the machine like a soundtrack to his screams, and the screams turned to an anguished choke as he felt the hand wrap around his throat. He'd stared into the monster's eyes and the monster had said something to him, something that he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what it was. It was the key, and Will couldn't remember it.

Will shook terribly, the monster clearly in front of him now, the flashes of the constant abuse whipping and clawing at him, desperate to break him, and he barely held on. He felt his whole world tilting, re-configuring. He was trying so hard to stop the memories from whistling in his ears but he couldn't stop it. He was crying, a mess against the bottom of the trunk of that tree.

That monster had always gone so close, almost on the brink of completely abusing him for the nothingness that he was worth. The threat was always there, and if he'd have run, the monster would've followed him, the monster always did, always. No matter where he was, no matter where he went, it was always the same outcome.

Will had been terrified to leave the house. He was weak, trapped, he felt disgust oozing out of every pore, and the monster always summoned him, trapped him against the same places. The monster was like a cat, and Will was the mouse, the little toy that would never break away. He'd attempted leaving once, when he'd felt rotten and used enough that he didn't care, he could've died for all that life was worth to him, and surprisingly, he'd actually gotten quite far, to the place he was in right now, in the exact same part of the woods.

Unsurprisingly, the monster had tracked him, sniffed him out, beat him down, and then something in Will broke before it snapped, and he felt something he'd never felt before. Rage. It was pure, it was raw, and it was  _fast_. He'd stared into those monster's eyes, his blue-grey ones almost turning to a dark grey; the thundery storm brewing in them was unsettling, and the monster blinked in surprise, that his prey, his  _son_ , wasn't snivelling, or begging for him to " _get off, let me go!_ ", and he wasn't struggling.

It was the calm before the storm, as they say, and Will had cocked his head slowly, the monster actually taking a step back. Will had been prepared for this, the knife digging into his hip bone spurring him on, and he willed himself to push up, a snarl on his own lips, and he looked rabid, feral. He'd suffered at this monster's hands for god only knew how long, and he was done with it. Finito.

The monster stood, stared at him, studied what Will had become, what he'd always pushed him towards becoming. He'd smirked softly, " _that's my boy._ "

Will had tilted his head, a low growl in his throat, and he approached slowly, his hand flat against his hip, his body tense, rigid. He knew what he had to do, even if he got injured, or possibly worse, in the process.

He'd sprung forward after a split second of waiting, the adrenaline running through his body driving towards the predator he'd never had the courage to stop before, and he whipped the knife from his hiding place and brought it up and ahead of him, causing him to slash at the throat of the monster before him, the blood pouring, gushing from the neck, and it would remind him after, when he'd complete the deed, of a bloody Niagra Falls.

He stared at the fallen body and collapsed onto his knees, the knife clattering to the ground with a muffled thud against the soft and overturned earth. He raised his hands before him and he smelt the strong whiff of blood, the red glistening and enticing the monster of his own. He'd, as a small test, ran his tongue slowly up along his right index finger, the tang metallic of the blood sating something deep within his core that he'd had no idea even existed.

He then cleaned his other fingers, in much the same way, the human element replaced by the beast that would always be in him now, although it would only appear twice more until present time; once for a woman obsessed with his father, the bloody remains of her shirt being found under his bed by Hannibal and he'd have to delve into the memories for that session to explain what it was doing in his room. The other time would be for the Jacob-Hobbs case, a cold blooded shooting.

Will struggled to stay awake, absolutely exhausted as the energy seeped out of him, the memories all swirling around him before vanishing and leaving him empty. He slumped down to the ground, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs; it felt like they would crack at the sensation. He looked around, the edges of his vision tinted grey.

He breathed out slowly, his mind almost shutting out everything else, his hand shaking quite terribly as he held his head in it. He was struggling to stay present, his eyes closing and he suddenly didn't even know where he was was, what the time was, where anyone else was. He was lost.


	4. [28th August 2013 -- AU solo - past, present, future]

I delve into my mind and find my happy place. It's quiet, peaceful, and I'm left to my thoughts and emotions, no interruptions. The same thought, - _or should I say, person?_ \- resounds in my head-space and it won't go away, so I just let it swim in my mind.

Who is this person?

Although you probably already know.

\--

_Dr Lecter. Hannibal Lecter. Lover._

It started as a simple curiosity, my thoughts on the man who now invaded my thoughts constantly, like a never receding drum, a non stop heartbeat, until it simply grew into something more, much more.

I don't know when exactly it ignited something so strong, so unyielding, in me, all I know is that it did. It's strange to think that we were simply patient and doctor, doctor and patient, before any mutual feelings came into it. There were no conflicts of interest, no complications, it was all simple. Boring.

My life, since being in Wolf Trap and Baltimore, has been relatively simple, even easy, some might argue, compared to my dark and murky past, my horrific childhood.

Then the complications started, being thrown out onto the forefront of the field, getting into the heads of a variety of murderers and serial killers, has emotionally damaged me, almost to the very brink of insanity.

\--

_Therapy._

I was forced into therapy, not necessarily against my wishes, just that I wouldn't of chosen to get any at all had it been 100% completely my choice. But it wasn't, and I was then confronted by the man I was, and am, you can argue, perhaps obsessed with. Not the stalker-ish obsession fans obtain when adoration turns into something worse towards their idols. No, it was love. Being in love.

\--

_Love._

Scientifically, it should just be a chemical reaction that happens in your body to mess with your heart, mind and soul. But this theory is, metaphorically speaking, brushed under the rug, as the saying goes, by anyone and everyone once they've experienced this strange feeling of, simply put, wanting to die for another, if you had to put a too short a point to it.

\--

_Actions._

I would. I would die for Hannibal, if it ever came to that. I'm just that far gone. I could go on and on and endlessly list different emotions I feel when I think of him, but that would technically be impossible.

I've never been good with words, the thoughts in my head straight threads until they reach my lips and then it all, not very well put, goes to Hell. The thoughts all come out a tumble of disjointed fragments, cheapened, and sometimes not exactly how I mean them to sound at all. Words mean nothing at all if you don't act accordingly.

The words I say to him, I do mean them, more than anything.

We've been through a lot.

Pretty much well known to the whole of Baltimore and Muskrat Farm by now, so I won't delve into it all again. There's no need.

\--

_My feelings._

My feelings have been hurt, and my feelings have been salvaged and soothed. The latter is the point we're at now, and I think they can stay like that, at least for a while. What we have at the moment, it's fragile, we both know that, and I'm not going to deny it. But I know it's going to become better again. I'm healing. He's healing me again, both mentally and physically.

I'm reverting back to my old self again, the puppy to Master.

\--

_Master. Master and Puppy. Master and Slave._

Now this, this is an understanding between the both of us, what works for us so well, and probably scares a lot of you. Of course you'd be scared, you don't know the full extent of it, how deep our connection goes.

We're connected on a primal level. I understand him. He understands me. I know what he needs. He knows what I need. You all know of his Wendigo, something so dark and chilling, something I've only just recently started to begin to understand, something that is of his true form, his true self.

\--

_Our other, truest forms._

I find this form of him, this side of him, extraordinary. There are no words that my mind is capable of pushing past my lips that would justify exactly what I think of Wendigo.

Not many of you know, as it's only just been realized recently within myself, that I, too, have a Wendigo of my own. Mine is what you'd call Ignis Fatuus, or another term more well known would be Wind-o'-the-Willows. Ignis or Willow would also suffice.

Ignis and Wendigo are similar, but not just quite so yet. To put it politely, they're mates. They've been at one together, on more than one occasion, connected on the deepest, most carnal levels known to man. But still, Wendigo is better refined, better controlled, than Ignis is.

Hopefully, that will change soon, and Ignis can be reigned in and controlled better. It connects us on a level unbelievable to anyone who hasn't had the privilege of experiencing something quite similar to it.

\--

_The future._

The future suddenly doesn't scare me anymore, it excites me. What we've been through, it's like it's all been a test, hoops that I've had to jump through, to prove myself, to prove how stubborn and determined I can really be when it comes down to the man I'm in love with.

I am stubborn.

I am determined.

I will make this future happen, with him by my side, no matter what the cost, of anything else, or to myself.

After all, I'm a people pleaser, and self preservation never was my strongest point.


	5. [22nd October 2013 -- AU solo - dark!Will / TW for non-descriptive mentions of rape]

Two days.

It had been two days since Will had, once again, started to feel the need to wrap his fingers around the handle of a knife, slowly drive the knife into someone's - _anyone's_ \- stomach, or chest, twist the knife around while it stuck inside of the victim at the same speed he'd pushed the knife through flesh and muscle, before yanking it out viciously; no mercy demonstrated in his actions.

It worried him, but only a little bit, that he was supposed to be empathic towards these people, that he imagined murdering by his own hand.

He hadn't understood it, at first, how he could be empathic towards some people in everyday, normal situations, but not everybody. Or rather, he could be empathic towards people, but not people who tried to harm him, or his family.

His family was ever growing, it seemed. Hannibal had been his only family, at the start, along with his dogs. The pack of dogs had had a couple of new additions in the time after - Dio and Mozart - but there was a plan for Will to take on two more. Then there were the kids Hannibal had helped from each of their own dire situations; Willow, Jacob, James, and so on and so forth.

Ever since he and Hannibal had discussed the thought of marriage, a few weeks before Hannibal had actually popped the question, they'd always agreed that neither wanted kids together, kids of their own flesh and blood. They'd both had differing reasons for this.

Will didn't want kids of his own because he didn't feel like he'd be a good enough parent, he often thought back to how badly he'd managed to take care of human Winston and thought that their decision was the right one to take. Hannibal didn't want them to have kids together because - and it was probably seen as a selfish reason to some - he only wanted to have Will as his family, to only take care of Will.

Another family member for Will was his own pet, Graham Crackers. It was like looking into a mirror or himself sometimes; they were in the same position when it came to pleasing their Master, except that Will and Crackers' relationship was a strictly non-sexual one.

Rules were still in place, as they were supposed to be, but if Crackers wished to relieve sexual urges then Will would allow him to do so as he couldn't provide them himself - as was the agreement he'd made with Hannibal right from the very beginning of Crackers wanting to be Will's pet - as long as he asked for permission first.

Crackers met a man named Aiden a few weeks prior to the point he was at now. He allowed them to begin dating, as long as Aiden promised - and kept the promise - not to hurt his pet. It was perhaps a couple of weeks later until something happened. Nothing major. Just a trip of his pet, yet it was done on purpose. Will spoke to Aiden, warned him not to do it again. Already, Ignis - his own subcon matched to and mated with Hannibal's Wendigo - was beginning to rear his head as Will had looked the other man over, a growl rising up in his throat.

He was a protective man, by any means, was Will Graham. He was even more protective when it came to his family and friends, and if anyone tried to harm them then, well, they'd be finished. For sure.

It wasn't long before Crackers came to harm, in one of the worst ways possible, due to Aiden. Crackers had no idea what Aiden had done to him - after being asked by the latter if he could speak to him - only to be injected and drugged to be knocked out. Crackers had come to Will the next day, distressed, mainly due to not knowing what exactly had happened to him while he'd been drugged, and Will vowed to find Aiden. He found Aiden - of course he did - in an abandoned warehouse and quickly got to the bottom of what exactly he'd done to Will's pet.

Drugged and raped.

Those words rang in Will's ears. He'd been in that same position with Leopard as Crackers had been with Aiden, except that Will had been awake - wide awake - when Leopard had viciously attacked him and filmed it; for all of the internet to see, as long as they'd paid.

He felt his fingers wrap around Aiden's throat, he felt himself backing Aiden up against the wall, he felt his hand squeeze to bruise and almost crush Aiden's windpipe, he felt his fingers wrap around the handle of his knife, he felt the blade of the knife slowly push through flesh, he felt the twist of the blade like a corkscrew, he felt himself yank the knife out and he saw the blade covered in blood, he saw the blood pouring from the wound, much like a bloody Niagra Falls, and he let Aiden's dying body fall to the floor after one last squeeze to his gasping throat.

He watched as the light died from the other man's eyes and before he even knew what he was doing he let his tongue run along the blade to taste his victim's blood. It was sick, he knew that, but he couldn't stop himself from doing so. He'd done it when he'd killed his father, when he'd killed that woman nosing around in the woods hoping to find any evidence of something he couldn't even remember if he'd done it or not, and he'd done it to other victims that he and Hannibal had taken together.

He felt like that now. He felt a deep, gut wrenching urge that had him slipping out of the house to stalk to the woods, hoping that there'd be a nameless victim wandering around the environment for him to kill, for him to become the animal he knew deep down that he was. It didn't take long to find this victim.

\--

_It was quick._

_It was merciless._

_It satisfied him deep down._

_It was everything he was._

_It was everything he had become._

_It was Will. It was Hannibal._

_It was Wendigo. It was Ignis._

_It was everything he was going to become, and Will welcomed it._


	6. [26th October 2013 -- AU solo - Ignis heat cycle]

There was a reason why Will Graham fainted on 31st of October, the day of Halloween, but he didn't know why.

It had only started a couple of years before now, this regular occurrence that had him staying in his bedroom the whole day so he didn't faint while meandering around his house, or while he was out and about. Little did he know, it was down to his subcon, Ignis, this reason for his fainting, and completely unbeknownst to Will, it was at Halloween that Ignis came into heat.

Now, normally, Ignis would start his heat cycle the day before Halloween, and it would stop the day after, and Will would only faint on the 31st October, the day it was the highest point of Ignis' heat. Will would faint, and stay passed out for a few hours, not knowing exactly what took place while he was, apparently, in heat. But this year, it was different.

No, this year, he'd managed to kick start the heat cycle early, totally by accident. He'd murdered a nameless victim a few days before, which he'd never done so close to Ignis' heat cycle before. It had worked his subcon up in unimaginable ways.

The heat was already starting to take place; like a slight itch all over his skin that he couldn't soothe. Surely, Hannibal's own subcon, Wendigo, would be able to tell; they both had heightened senses when it came to Will's normal aroma, but this... This could either spell disaster, or more mating. It would most likely be unstoppable, once Wendigo caught the sweet and fevered scent of Ignis being in heat; both animal's would be wanton.

Still, Will was clueless, and he put the itch and ache down to what had taken place the night before; his "training" with Hannibal had started again, and it had pushed Will to his very limits.

He'd woken up the next morning and could barely move, the ache already steadily increasing. He'd rolled over on to his back, wincing as he did so. His back seemed to burn, like it was on fire from the whip marks, and his ass almost throbbed, serving as a constant reminder that he would take everything his lover gave to him, no matter how much it stung, or hurt. He'd just take it, without reason, because it was his Master. Because it was Hannibal.

He tried to sit up, shifting slowly and carefully, trying not to agitate the itch and ache further. He barely managed to grab at one of the pill bottles that was on his bedside table, and a water bottle, before having to rest back against the headboard. He didn't bother reading the label on the bottle; he just wanted his ache to recede. He tipped two of the pills into the palm of his hand, popped them into his mouth and swigged some of the water to wash them down. Done.

It was then he decided to look down at the label, jaw dropping and eyes widening as it processed in his mind what pills he'd actually taken, rather than just ordinary painkillers...

_Femansform._


	7. [29th October 2013 -- AU solo - fem!mode / brief mentions of Wendigo/Ignis mating]

~ Saturday 26th October, 2013. (??:??PM) ~

So now Will was... Well, female, again. Willow. The Femansform had worked.

It didn't surprise or shock him at all when he woke up on Saturday evening and looked into the mirror to find a female form staring back at him. What did surprise him, though, was the fact he wasn't brunette, like the last time he'd popped some Femansform pills, but now he was a red head.

Another thing that surprised  _her_ \- _(s)he had to remember that_ \- was that the Femansform had only taken a few hours - _four, maybe less?_ \- to transform her. It usually took ten hours; a whole night's sleep, but this time it had taken a lot less. She stared in the mirror and wondered two things.

One, how was she a red head this time, and not brunette like the last time she'd popped the Femansform pills?

And two, why had it taken a lot less hours for her to complete the transformation?

She didn't know, and it hurt her head to try and think too much about it so soon after transforming. She felt faint and proceeded to sink back onto her place in her and Hannibal's bed, before promptly passing out for the rest of that evening and night, until the next morning.

~ Sunday 27th October, 2013. (??:??AM) ~

Willow woke up at a time she couldn't quite place. She looked over to the other side of the bed and sighed, upon seeing that it was empty. Where was Hannibal, and why hadn't he come up to bed the previous night?

She guessed that he'd been stuck in his office, working late - probably work on how to help Cameron and Eve, two more wayward children locked up in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, although they were most likely in there for reasons that were not even proper reasons for keeping them in a place like that - and had fallen asleep by accident. It wasn't the first time he'd fallen asleep in his office, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He worked too hard, she often thought.

She was still a woman, she realized as she tried to stand, bracing herself by placing a hand on the bed side table, and froze as she heard muffled footfalls making their way up the stairs. She braced herself for the initial shock as Hannibal made his way into their bedroom, and attempted to explain what had happened, why she was a woman again, as she sat back on the bed, trying not to pass out.

She felt incredibly hot, slightly more so than when she'd first transformed. There was something odd, and different, about the whole thing. Hannibal had suggested that they take her to see a doctor, but as he sat by her, back of his hand pressed to her forehead, she felt slightly better, but also hotter. Burning up. She recognised the feeling well, and she almost knew what her problem was; like it was on the tip of her tongue.

She was, to put it bluntly, aroused. Very much so. More than she'd ever felt it in her entire life. She  _wanted_ Hannibal; and it also felt like she  _needed_ him. She found herself to feel simply insatiable. They made their way down to the playroom, so she and Ignis - who was thrashing and tearing at her insides to be let free - could bring Wendigo out to play.

Wendigo broke free, Ignis' heat making this task a lot less difficult than it usually was. They were locked in the room; no-one could get in, and both Willow - as Ignis - and Hannibal - as Wendigo - couldn't get out until their session was completed.

It was primal; it was animalistic; Wendigo and Ignis mated.

It wasn't long until they both fell asleep in a worn out and messy heap; Ignis completely sated. For now.

~ Monday 28th October, 2013. (8:15AM) ~

Willow startled awake after having a night terror. It was the first one she'd had in months. Images had flickered through her mind and in her mind's eye as she looked down to her stomach, hands resting over it protectively.

Images then poured into her mind, no filter to stop them. She tried to block them out, squeezed her eyes shut tighter, in her sleep, but that only served to make them brighter; ingrained into the back of her mind.

_She saw herself, strapped to a hospital gurney, being wheeled down an endless corridor, blinded by the lights that, no matter which direction she looked in, were always in front of her, glaring._

_A flash of colour and as it faded she saw herself on an examination table, wrists and ankles restrained by chains, a faceless doctor slowly slicing down along her sternum with a sharp scalpel, cutting her open, tugging out her internal organs, a baby ripped and yanked from her womb._

_She let out a silent scream. It went unheard, although she could feel her vocal cords straining from the effort. She felt every incision being placed as she was stitched back up again, torturous, so very slow, before passing out for what must have only been ten seconds or so._

_When she came to in her dream, she was sat up in a hospital bed, nobody else around in her hospital room. It was quiet. Deathly quiet. She looked down and saw a baby version of Ignis and Wendigo, a mixture of the two. It looked strange, but somehow... She found it rather beautiful._

_The mixture of Ignis and Wendigo opened its mouth and let out a long, slow, droning wail, and she felt the mind baby - because that was exactly what it was; a subcon baby - start to tremble, then quiver, then shake violently. It burst into a mixture of grime, filth, spiders and snakes. She let out another unheard screech, her lips shaping Hannibal's name, before another flash of colour stunned her into blacking out._

\--

When she came to this time, she was back in bed in Baltimore, Hannibal right beside her. It wasn't a dream now, it was her reality. She was still a woman, but the whole pregnancy idea had implanted itself in her head. She couldn't shake it from her mind. She blinked, feeling terrified deep down in her soul, before taking in a few deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly, and letting herself drift into an uneasy, restless, and dreamless sleep.


	8. [9th November 2013 -- AU solo - flashback; Coping Method / non-descriptive rape mention TW]

Tears are already slowly running down his cheeks when he strips and steps into the shower. The heat of the water is the highest it can go. The water burns at his skin, but he hardly feels it. He needs to wash away the nightmares of the previous night.

It was his coping method. Had been ever since he'd first been abused and raped by Leopard, a week or two ago. It worked, for the most part; this coping method.

But sometimes, like today, it didn't work. He furiously scrubbed at his skin, until he felt raw, and vulnerable, and exposed. Much the same of how he'd felt when Leopard had torn into him with reckless abandon. Repeatedly.

Will sank to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut, but the images burned into the back of his eyelids. His throat felt tight with disuse, and unshed screams.

Instead of screaming, like he wanted to, he sobbed silently into his hands. Screaming would do no good. It didn't do any good when he'd done it before; both in the process of being raped, or just in general when he'd wanted somebody - _anybody_ \- to make it all stop.

It was now he realized, somewhat with stark clarity, that he'd buried it to the back of his mind; his way of dealing and coping with any of his troubles. It was also now he realized, again with stark clarity, that he hadn't really coped or dealt with it at all.


	9. [16th December 2013 -- AU solo - Christmas gore dream]

Will didn't often have nightmares any more, but the dreams he did have, were always interesting for him to interpret - to say the least - once he woke up again.

Tonight was one such night he experienced an interesting dream.

The sleep he fell into was quite a peaceful one, and the dream he had should've probably freaked him out once he woke up, but it somehow... Felt right.

_Snow was falling outside, pure and white, saintly. It was neither falling too slow, or too fast, and Will, in his dream, watched it through the living room window for what felt like quite some time._

In dreams, what feels like an hour can just be five minutes in sleep, and what feels like five minutes can be an hour in sleep.

_Watching the snow, time moved slow, like the latter of the two options. An hour in sleep. Five minutes in dreamland._

_Will turned to face the Christmas tree and smiled upon the sight he was greeted with. The children were all sat obediently and peacefully by the bottom of the dug up tree, hand decorating human organ filled ornaments. He guessed he should've been disgusted by the sight, but the innocence of the children made the whole scene a beautiful thing to watch._

_Mozart ran around, tinsel wrapped around his little body, having dived into that particular decoration box. Upon moving closer to the tree, inspecting the tinsel already strewn across the branches in a zigzag fashion, Will found it not to be tinsel on both the tree and Mozart, but human intestines, instead. Longer on the tree, and the shorter on Mozart. Will grinned softly at the image. Again, it was beautiful._

_He heard Cameron ask for a ladder, so he could be the one to place the star on the top of the tree, and as Will blinked, he saw Hannibal walk into the room with the step ladder he'd brought up from the basement, before placing it by the side of the tree._

_Human organ filled ornaments adorned multiple branches, while human skin that had been fashioned, cut, and snipped into snowflake shapes also hung on selected branches, the names of each person that the children, and Will himself, cared about, written in blood; the only other thing marring the bits of skin._

_Will watched, staying silent and stoic, as did Hannibal, while Cameron took a human heart out of the decoration box, stepping up the ladder to place it on the top of the tree, straightening it for a moment as blood dripped over his hands and arms, before smiling and climbing down the ladder._

_Will blinked again, and it was time for a family picture in front of the tree. He was tugged next to Hannibal, the children and Mozart surrounding the tree becoming like still life art, and he smiled as the camera flash went off, the smell of blood strong, filling his nostrils as he inhaled deeply._

_The flash was too bright, though..._

And as Will opened his eyes he found himself roused awake from his dream, light from the window streaming into his and Hannibal's bedroom.


	10. [19th February 2014 -- AU solo - rape mention TW]

Trying to cope with James' absence in our home --  _his_ home -- is still hard to bear, even though it's only been a day or two. The restarted tobacco intake, and ingestion of my faithful old friend, good ol' alcohol, are my coping mechanisms. I don't know what Hannibal's coping mechanisms are.

I haven't asked, and I won't. I'll stay silent, unless I'm asked questions. Not that I feel like answering anybody's questions. I bury painful issues, keeping them locked up tight. Always have, always will.

I can feel the tension between the kids that remain here. Most notably between Abby and Jacob, against Eve. Nate and Cam have, mostly, kept out of the way. They've behaved, and I am grateful for it, for everybody's sake, as well as my own. Even the dogs have kept out of trouble. Which, again, I'm grateful for.

I overheard most of the... What we'll call _disagreement_ , between Abby and Eve, earlier tonight. How are Abby, and I'm guessing Jacob, too, so convinced that what Eve is saying, is all lies? Why would she lie about something as serious as rape?

As a victim of that crime myself, it wounds me.

It feels like some sort of double-ended situation. I don't  _want_ it to be to be true, but that would mean Eve lied to us all, and for what? I can't begin to fathom any reasons why she would. But if it  _was_ true... I can't finish that train of thought.

My first impression of James was that he was troubled -- as all the children were when I first met them -- but that he was also quiet, reserved, and shy, even. I didn't expect the level of violence that the evidence displayed in his last meeting with Eve. It didn't add up. It just, did not make sense.

Surely either Hannibal or I would've noticed, in his everyday interactions with the other children, or in his one-on-one therapy sessions. I can't wrap my mind around it. Usually, people don't go straight to acting out a vicious crime, such as rape. It's the result after a long line of lesser crimes, a steady build up, progression...

"Ah, fuck."

There's no way I'm reconstructing the crime at this time of the night, plied with more alcohol than I can remember I've even consumed. It was my children. My judgement is clouded, as it is.

Family.

Something I'd ended up wanting, and gotten, and was now at risk of losing some members of.


	11. [17th March -- AU solo - cannibalism]

_Cannibalism._

It's probably surprising to the masses -- _or not, depending on who you are_ \-- how I'm so okay with it being such a major part of the life I have now. But just  _how_ had I come to be so okay with it, accept it, as if it's normal?

Well, first things first, not knowing any better when I'd first ingested human flesh, probably made accepting it a whole lot easier. Which sounds bad, and terrible, but...well. It's not the "worst" thing I've ever accepted as being okay. No...the whole, taking part in cannibalistic murders -- _and enjoying it_ \-- is worse than just indulging in the taste of human flesh.

My perspective on anything and my morals are now, in a word -- _excuse my French_ \-- fucked.

But hey, sue me for being in love with the Devil. That would be another reason.

While I was being plied with plenty of meals that hid human remnants, I was enjoying the company of the man supplying the meals laced with hidden human remnants.

I don't know how it happened, -- _how I fell for the man_ \-- but it happened. Most likely a mixture of him being the only one seemingly capable of being able to understand me -- _and vice versa_ \-- and not see me as some social freak, him being a sense of stability for me, more than anyone else, and the whole, deep primal attraction thing that was awakened whenever our bare skin happened to brush, -- _mainly our hands_ \-- no matter how innocent the gesture was.

With me...I was touch starved. While it seems strange for any  _normal_ member of society, I used to mainly avoid bodily contact with anyone. More out of discomfort, than anything else.

Until I didn't avoid it.

Until I craved it.

I still do, now. I crave not the loneliness or solitude I often sought before I met Dr. Hannibal Lecter, but crave the lightest touch of his fingers, the smooth press of his chest against my back, or against my chest, or my chest pressed against his lean, muscled back.

It doesn't matter, what was before. All that matters is never losing it now.

When I first found out he'd been...well, feeding me, and others, people, I'd thought it was a joke. I was in disbelief. He hadn't admitted it at first, and I'd never outright asked. I knew what he was. I knew what he'd done to me. And he knew that I knew. Yet he still claimed to want to be my friend, to  _know_ me. I'd been framed for the murders --  _his_ murders -- and that was that.

Or so I thought.

I don't know what changed his mind about me, to actually  _help_ me. At that point in time I hadn't, at least. I guess he'd fallen in love with me, or the idea of what I was eventually going to become. What he'd surely  _known_ I'd been capable of becoming. As long as he kept pushing, I was morphing. It focused my mind, no matter what I was morphing into.

It's different now... _I'm_ different now. Quite stark in contrast to how I was before. I'd say this lifestyle I'm a part of now -- _after much persuasion from my..better?..half, including whispered promises between silk sheets_ \-- is a lot better than the one I was a part of before.

I think the same can be said for my husband. He was just as alone as I was, if not more. Mine was more to do with my own personal choice, preference, whereas Hannibal's wasn't really his own choice.

It's difficult to explain to anyone who doesn't know his back-story, his childhood -- _which, thankfully, I do know about, and understand to the best of my abilities_ \-- about the way he is, why he does what he does. It's probably less to do with how he started to become a cannibal, now, than it was back then. I think it's more out of habit now.

The reason we work so well together is because we have a heightened sense of understanding each other, more so than anyone else. We both needed someone we could trust, and we found that in each other. Along with a way for our violent, physical subconscious' to mate and bond.

I was the social outcast and needed someone who wouldn't be too quick to judge and discard me after what was deemed my expiry date.

Apparently he was that person.

He was the psychopath -- _which I say in the nicest possible way I can_ \-- who needed someone who was worthy enough to climb over the many, many walls he'd built over the years.

Apparently I was that person.

My empathy allows me to understand and take on his perspective, no matter what the situation is, and his keen, heightened sense of perception allows him to read me like a book, no matter how I'm feeling.

I couldn't go back to what my life was before, and I don't think he could, either. I have him, he has me, we have each other, and we have our children.

Family.

Something we'd never been able to rebuild after the lost years between then -- _childhood_ \-- and now -- _present day_ \-- until we'd been able to build it together.


	12. [24th | 25th March 2014 -- AU solos - Ignis taking over]

Two days. Two days stuck in a damn hospital. Probably the worst place for me to be. I hated it, every minute. The pain was crippling, at least at the start. The food was crap; finally, I think I've found something that's worse than airline food. The only good thing about it, were the painkillers. Even if they did make me feel a little loopy.

I was just glad to be discharged after only one overnight stay, with what seems to be no major problems.

Two days without my husband, the kids, and the dogs. It's horrible, and I hope it doesn't happen again. Now that I have my family, I can't bear to be apart from them for longer than is necessary -- _for instance, when I'm at work_ \-- otherwise it just gets me down.

Which is exactly what I feel like now.

I can feel the darkness slowly flicker in the very corners of my mind, where Ignis usually roams, just out of view. I've been weakened, as of late, and he's seizing upon that weakness. I can already feel how much stronger he's become lately.

I don't know how, or why, but he seems to be becoming his own person, and sometimes he can take over, without me even summoning him. Which could prove to be a problem, if I'm not too careful.

Perhaps he feels like he needs to be more active, as he was less active before; when I needed him the most. Perhaps he feels like this is making up for lost time.

I don't know.

I just  _don't_ know.

I sigh as I slam the front door behind me, needing to walk off this bad mood.

"You need to take it easy for the next couple of days, Mr. Lecter."

Screw the doctor's advice.

What I  _need_ is to get out of this serious funk that's been building since the previous morning.

So I do. I walk, and then jog, and then run. All the way to the opposite side of town. The "bad" side of Baltimore. It's dirty, it's dank, but it's  _real_. Smog. Prostitutes, -- _which I have to shrug several of them off, completely uninterested_ \-- both male and female. Lesser known strip clubs. Dingy alleyways.

I keep my mobile turned off, at this moment not caring if anyone, or no-one, tries to get a hold of me.

I just need to be alone, -- _just for a little while without being bed-ridden and inhaling the smell of disinfectant every breath I intake_ \-- thinking that the air will help, but it does little to stall the darkness threatening to overtake. I'm holding back, I'm trying so hard.

But Ignis is trying harder.

I lean back against an alleyway wall, not caring for the grime that could stain my plaid shirt. It's an old one, anyway. I blink several times, feeling the chill nip at wherever bare skin happens to be exposed. I inhale and exhale, suddenly wishing I'd brought a jacket.

That's when I hear it; a scream that cuts through the air like a jaggedly broken bottle in a bar brawl, from the other end of the alleyway. From what I can tell, it's a young girl. Then a hushed, " _shut it, bitch_ ," followed by a broken sob; begging.

That's when I black out; Ignis charging to the forefront of my mind, shutting down everything else apart from himself. Such a selfish subcon--

...

= IGNIS =

Ah ... And so it begins. Finally, I'm free to roam.

That little switch whilst Will and Hannibal chained Wendy up was thwarted and so rudely interrupted by the good doctor; my mate's other, more human form. I can't really disobey him, as it ruins any chances of seeing Wendigo again, so I had to let Will take over again.

But now, now that Will is weakened after his stay at the hospital, and taking a long stroll towards the worst side of Baltimore, his mind awfully easy to penetrate ... Now I can seize my long awaited chance.

For redemption.

I wasn't there when he was chained up, raped and beaten the last time, -- _by the animal that shall not pass my borrowed lips_ \-- and so I shall not let that happen again. A mental blockage, or something of the sort, was the reason I could not take over. It had never happened before, and neither of us had been prepared.

That little stunt Wendy pulled brought it to my attention, that I should never, ever let it happen again. I can't let this body get harmed, not like how it's so often been damaged before. I simply, will not allow it anymore. And if that means taking over the body, even without the body's owner's permission or summoning, then so be it.

I've been quietly waiting in the darkest corners of William's mind, patiently biding my time, and now the time has come.

The scream is what does it. It tugs at something deep within my -- _well, I would say soul, but do subcon's even have a soul?_ \-- and I can't stop myself from taking over -- _it easily being done in Will's weakened state_ \-- to charge towards the begging sobs of the young woman in the cruel and perverse man's arms at the opposite end of the alleyway Will thought had been a good idea to pause in.

Bad idea, William, and I'm sorry, I really am, but this has to be done.

Revenge.

Once started, it can't be stopped until the deed is done. And it's not as if anyone is here to stop me. Not that any mere human would be  _able_ to stop me from charging forward, the shadowed tendrils of my natural form flickering against the wall under the dim street lights as the complete change takes over. I'm not  _human_ , but I am a physical presence.

A physical presence which startles the brute of a man, the girl in his choke-hold. He drops her, eyes widened in obvious fear, -- _I can even smell the reek of it coming off of him in waves_ \-- I lunge forward, ramming at him with all my might, for his body to be crushed against the wall with the mere force of it.

But this is just the start. My heightened sense of hearing picks up another, startled cry, and I'm taking off back in the direction I came. This murder spree will go long into the night, until I'm satisfied.

\--

The first thing I feel is a throbbing headache. It's like a drum is constantly banging in my head.

Thud. Thud.  _Thud_.

THUD. THUD.  _THUD_.

The second thing I feel is the cold, hard ground below me. I blink a few times, the sunlight almost blinding me, before I raise a hand to partially cover my face. With my other hand, I check over my body, applying pressure to my opposite arm; my torso and chest; my stomach and lower abdomen; my thighs as I slowly start to sit up; and finally, my calves and lower legs.

Nothing hurts. Except my head, and my shoulder blades, which burn. The 'H' and 'L' marks. It feels like fingernails have dug into them, scratched them.

I frown, finally trying to look around. It takes a few moments before I'm able to, still wincing a little from the sunlight streaming through the trees. A forest, or wooded area. I inhale and exhale, checking myself over once more, just to be sure there's no damage. As far as I can tell, there's no damage to my insides or bones, slowly getting to my feet.

I look down at myself, placing a hand against a tree trunk, bracing myself for the mess of myself of what I can see. Pants and shoes, just muddied. But my shirt, is gone. I look down at where I'd been lying; there's nothing to give away how I'd passed out there. Or why.

I can't remember. I try, but it's impossible. It's like I've been cut off; a mental block.

This isn't good. This, is not good.

Think, Will,  _think_.

I try to think back. The last thing I remember is being in the hospital for two days; coming home; being in one of the foulest moods I'd been in for a while; taking a walk; the alleyway--

...

And that's it. I remember nothing else. Fuck.

Patting down my pockets, I audibly exhale a sigh of relief. I still have my cell phone. Thank God. Thank,  _God_. I hold down the power button, waiting...waiting...waiting...

It works. It turns on. My mind is whirring as I try to remember how to work my cell phone. I need to call or text someone. Anyone.

Do I have credit? Yes.

Do I have signal? No.

 _Fuck_.

How long had I been out of it? It must've only been one night. It hurts, trying to remember anything else. All I get, is an echo of a scream, which builds up into a cacophony of screams and yells, begging, sobbing for it to stop, stop, _STOP_ \--

...

I blink, now at the edge of the woods. I know where I am. I'm close to home. I'm so very close. I can see the house. I can see home. I try wrapping my arms around my upper body, but the marks hurt. They sting. Who the Hell even grabbed and scratched at them?

I'm walking, stumbling. I need to get inside. Oh, God. They must've been worried sick, if anyone even noticed I was gone...

No. They'd be worried. My family would be worried.

...

I'm at the back door, I open it, and close it quietly behind me. It's quiet. Too quiet. I stand in the kitchen, rooted to the spot.

Shock.

I'm cold. I need to sit. I need to breathe.

I wrap my arms around myself, even if it does hurt my shoulder blades. I sit at the kitchen table. I breathe.

"My name is William M. H. Lecter ... It's--" I look at my watch. "--2:46PM ... I'm home ... I'm alive."


	13. [26th March 2014 -- AU solo - aftermath of Ignis takeover]

I woke up this morning after a marginally okay-ish sleep. I didn't dream, or have any nightmares, and once I did eventually fall asleep a few hours after Hannibal had dropped off, I didn't wake up until this morning. So, all in all, it was probably the best night's sleep I could have asked for, given the circumstances of the last couple of days.

Especially after blacking out the other night, and not remembering what had happened once I had awoken on the woodland floor.

Hannibal is dealing with an early morning patient -- _I think it's Mark's brother, but I'm not too sure; I don't usually pry into explicit details of his patients, as I wouldn't have liked that being done to me when I was his unofficial patient_ \-- so I make my way to the kitchen to make myself some breakfast.

Ah, at last, some more real food.

Granted, it's only a bowl of muesli, but it's better than hospital food, all the same. It's quick to prepare, and I'm soon sat in the living room, bowl on my lap, spoon sticking out of the breakfast food, so I can flick the TV on to check this morning's news.

I wish I'd never bothered.

Sixteen bodies. Or...remainders of sixteen bodies. Found by the river at the other side of the woodlands I'd woken up in. I can't tear my eyes away from the **BREAKING NEWS REPORT** that flashes upon the screen, feeling suspended in time. The dumping site is way too close to home; way too coincidental of the time and environment it's taken place.

I don't want to believe that I did something like that. But deep down, something stirs within me. A vague sense of pride -- _not exactly of my own control_ \-- and redemption.

Once the news program finishes, I look down at the bowl of untouched muesli placed on my lap. I scrunch my nose up, appetite dissipating as quickly as it had emerged from the woodwork like a woodlouse. I walk back through to the kitchen and put the bowl down on the floor, so one of the dogs can have at it. Not one even sniffs at it.

I chuck the food away, wash and dry the bowl and spoon up, before placing them away. I then lean against the kitchen counter, taking a deep breath, before deciding not to bring the news story up with Hannibal whenever he's finished with the patient. I can't find it in my heart to.

If it  _was_ me who happened to have done that --  _remainders of sixteen bodies was all that could be found; not even identifiable body parts_ \-- then I truly have lost myself. My one biggest fear -- _my one biggest nightmare_ \-- is coming true.

And I don't want to talk about it.


	14. [3rd May 2014 -- AU solo - Murder is Art / dark!Will]

There's an art to this. Murder. The body of the victim, a canvas; the weapon(s) used, an artist's brushstroke. But sometimes, all it takes is your hands. It's much more intimate that way, much more personal.

That's what I was aiming for as I strung the body up on one of the fence poles in the alleyway behind Desert Oasis, the strip club on the other side of Baltimore. This was personal.

A drug dealer, a feigned interest in scoring some of his loot, and a quick strangulation until he was passed out was all it took. There was a vague sense of foreboding, at first, but it passed as I soon came to realize that there was nobody else in the immediate vicinity. Well, nobody apart from my husband, who was taking watch.

My first ever kill, without direct influence from Hannibal, which would be with my own bare hands.

We took him home. Out in that alleyway was no place to work on organ removal, after all. The thrill of the kill was still evident in my gaze, which was most likely darkened to a stormy grey, the blue dissipating.

I was...excited.

Excitable.

I'm new to this, but that doesn't mean I'm not one to take precautions. The switching of locations was needed, just in case somebody did happen to stumble upon us.

We took him down to the basement; tied him up good and proper. I was the one to slice down the dealer's chest with a scalpel -- I never even got his name, but for my own sake, let's call him J.D; John Doe -- to get to his ribs. He wasn't dead as I tugged them apart to get to his inner organs.

He screamed.

He screamed a lot.

The sharp crack of breaking bone should make anyone wince, but I don't even flinch. Surprisingly, it's not even Ignis battling for control as I feel Hannibal pressing at my back, and the barely thrashing body of J.D beneath my hands as the life,  _his_ life, slowly drains away.

This is me.

I'm playing God.

As I look upon him now, raised up like some fallen angel, I smile. It feels like the most natural thing in the world for me. But it comes across like pity. I care for nothing else than making this drug dealer a mockery; a warning to others.

He was chosen specifically. He has a purpose. I'd heard his voice, when he was alive and well, once before. I wasn't the only one who knew what he was, what he did, and neither was Hannibal. I'd chosen him, as a warning for Jacob.

It sounds sinister, I know, but I can't run the risk of other drug dealers passing bad gear -- _because, c'mon, let's face it, it wasn't even the good stuff_ \-- along to him. Or James. They're both impressionable young boys.

I'd put the fear of God in man. I'd put the fear of God in all of them, if need be.

John Doe is displayed just as he deserves to be displayed. Like Christ brandished on his Cross on that fateful day. Expect in a much more gruesome manner. With arms outstretched and tied to the fence with thorns, organs that had previously been removed also hang from those arms, like ornaments on Christmas morn.

Take a good look at them. All of you. See what those drugs can do to your systems. See what can be ripped out of you. I leave him there, to his own humiliation, just like that. I take my leave.

Never mind the sixteen bodies that Ignis had ripped to pieces so much that what remnants had been found couldn't even be distinguished; this is what I could do on my own.


	15. [26th July 2014 -- AU solo - dark!Will | Willdigo / part one]

The altercations Will has with C. Ing Graham the previous night and Reba McClane that morning makes the empath search for an outlet to get rid of the sudden rage and aggression that threatens to consume him in the immediate aftermath of both situations.

\--

It's happened before; the way he'd felt the previous year when murdering Garrett Jacob-Hobbs. Hannibal had been right all along, it  _did_ feel good. Will Graham felt nothing but  _powerful_ , and the more he'd honed his skills and refined his taste for murder and, yes, cannibalism, the more he'd gotten a taste for it.

He was no victim of Dr. Hannibal Lecter's manipulation, as some who weren't capable of understanding the dynamics of their relationship often thought; he was a manipulator in his own right.

Take Matthew Brown for example.

All the younger man had wanted was for somebody else to  _understand_ him. Will's knack for understanding anything from anyone's viewpoint just happened to be a bonus, and he'd no less than manipulated and used the orderly in his mind games with Hannibal; they had been at war and Matthew Brown could be seen as someone who was expendable.

Now, time down the line since then, both he  _and_ Hannibal partly welcomed the other into their lives, and their bed, and the youngest male was, again, an outlet for certain games and dynamics between the two. Matthew Brown was still a murderer, after all, and could be seen as one of their own; especially with his continuous fixation on Will.

\--

It doesn't take him long to find something, and by then, he's visibly shifting his weight from one foot to the other; he's eager to get the show on the road.

It's half an hour's drive into downtown Baltimore, and the second rate clubs are practically thrumming with lower class citizens that now make Will squirm slightly and wrinkle his nose in utter distaste whenever he's faced with them. But that's not what he's after. He's hit there before, on more than one occasion, and it had only sated a certain type of hunger. Revenge on drug dealers for trying to get one under on him, and one over on one of his sons, Jacob.

It had also been the first time he'd murdered someone without Hannibal's interference. The other man had watched on, with barely concealed pleasure written across his face at Will's adaption, evolution, and becoming. They were equals now, in all sense of the word.

\--

He has pieces of clothe doused with chloroform already prepared, and thick ropes in the trunk of his car; he's nothing if not prepared for this.

Instead of driving fully into downtown Baltimore, he takes a back road that was known for late night dog walkers, joggers and travellers. He parks by the side of the road, feigning a break down, and before he knows it, a couple in a small car stop by to see if they can help.

He shakes his head. They're not what he's looking for. They look  _nothing_ like C. Ing Graham and Reba McClane. They shrug and move along. Will continues to wait.

\--

A female jogger is next to come across Will Lecter, waiting by his car on the side of the old road. She's blonde, is shorter than he is, and is friendly yet cautious when she asks if he's in trouble.

He doesn't say much; he doesn't  _have_ much to say. All he does is shake his head. Her attitude reminds him greatly of Reba McClane. This woman, who introduces herself as Tara when he asks for a name, has the same attitude as the other; she seems to have an air of interference about her. Too curious for her own good, and of course, Will picks up on it immediately.

Why else would  _Tara_ still be sticking around?

"We can't have a handsome guy like you stuck out here, can we? My home's not far."

He tries his best to keep his emotions tapped down, his expressions to a minimum, as he replies, all Lousisiana drawl with a hint of a smirk, "no, I shouldn't be stuck out here. But neither should you be hanging around, asking stupid questions, and getting involved with something that has nothing to do with you."

He doesn't wait for an answer; he springs forward and grabs her around the throat with a gloved hand, the chloroform soaked cloth placed securely over her mouth and nose. She stuggles, but Will's strength far surpasses hers.

His teeth graze the side of her neck and once he feels her heartbeat, pounding fast and strong, beneath his tongue, he bites down,  _hard_ , until he breaks the skin and can taste blood. He spits it out and swipes his tongue across his teeth, feeling his own heart beating steadily. His pace hasn't even started to rise yet, but this is the hunger he knows already he has to satiate when the time comes.

He drops her into the trunk of his car after tying her up with the ropes he had on hand. Then he waits again.

\--

He looks unruffled when a male jogger passes him by, who stops to ask if Will is okay. Again, another one that interferes far too much. They see it as helping, and Will now sees it as them sticking their oar in.

Will almost does a double take when the other reminds him of C. Ing; he has an air of arogance about him, and it doesn't bode well with the empath.

Will doesn't even wait for any introduction or pleasantries before taking him down in the same manner as he'd dealt Tara. The mystery man, who Will will refer to as John Doe, joins Tara in the trunk of Will's car.

This is only the beginning.


	16. [26th July 2014 -- AU solo - dark!Will | Willdigo / part two]

It's only then does Will feel his pulse start to quicken. He has two victims in the back of his car, and once he's sure that nobody else is around, he drives out to an old abandoned cabin in woodlands that he knew of being one of Matthew's haunts.

He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel when he parks up, knowing that the two victims will be waking up soon. Chloroform induced unconsciousness only lasted so long, and Will vaguely knew how to time it.

He hauls John Doe in first, and ties him to a chair, before returning for Tara, who he leaves sprawled out on the floor. She would be first, just as a demonstration for John Doe.

John is the first to come around, and he looks indifferent, still slightly arrogant, as he watched Will. The empath thinks he hears him calling him "weak", but he shakes his head and proceeds to pin Tara to the floor, his thighs either side of her hips.  _She_ looks absolutely terrified when she looks up into seemingly dead and dark eyes that drink in her whimpers and whines, that do nothing but make him bear all of his weight down over her more.

"Watch this," Will smirks as he flickers his gaze up to John as he presses his thumbs into Tara's eyes, pushing hard enough to make her eyeballs sink into her skull.

There was nothing like remembering how it had felt to empathize with Dr. Abel Gideon on his murder of the night nurse. There were no steel poles to stick into Tara's body, but this should have to do for now.

The screams ripped from her throat were like a sweet tune to Will's ears, and he sighs softly, exhaling slowly, even as Tara claws at his wrists.

"Be blind, Tara. Be blind." He whispers as he leans close, applying more pressure for a moment that makes her grasp on his wrists lessen a considerable amount, and he removes his thumbs from her eyesockets once she'd done so.

John Doe starts to struggle, but the ropes keeping him tied to the chair only seem to tighten as panic seizes him. The man kneeled over the woman he didn't know was starting to morph into something else. Something less human. He'd never seen anything like it before in his life. He could've sworn he saw antlers start to protrude from Will's head. But when he blinks, they're gone.

"Struggling will do you no good. Accept your fate. Accept this." Will murmurs low as he pins Tara's arms above her head, gaze boring into her ruined eyesockets. He blinks, then lets his teeth graze over her neck again, feeling the ever quickening pulse beneath the tip of his tongue. She's scared; terrified, even. Will feeds off of it, quite literally, when he tugs her jaw lower with one hand to take her tongue between his teeth and tug, biting down harshly.

He vaguely hears a gurgled protest from her, and a clearer protest from John, to stop what he's doing, but all that does is serve for him to rip her tongue out and spit it by John's feet. When Will looks up, he grins eerily, and John squeezes his eyes shut. The blood dripping down from Will's mouth and chin make him want to throw up.

Will hasn't even started on him yet. This was torture, just watching the poor girl suffer for whatever misdeeds their captor had envisioned and imagined up.

Will, on the other hand, claws Tara's shirt open, nails and fingers digging into her chest, scratching to get beneath the surface. Another gurgled protest, and Will grabs for the small blade he'd used to threaten C. Ing with the previous night, and makes a deep incision from between the mound of Tara's breasts, down to her sternum. He drops the blade beside them and uses his hands to tug the incision apart wider, fingers hooking and pulling her ribs to the sides so he can get to her organs.

All the meanwhile, she's alive, albeit starting to pass out.

"Let yourself go. It's only going to get worse, Tara. Let yourself sleep." Will's voice is gentle, almost a croon, a stark contrast to the violence of his actions. Her eyes slowly close, shallow breaths making her chest rise and fall, and Will watches, all common sense seeming to evade him until he's left with nothing but animal instinct.

He lowers his head and bites into her heart, which expands and contracts with each shallow inhalation and exhalation, and he hums at the taste of raw flesh and blood.

John looks upon Will with something akin to a childlike horror; this was the stuff of nightmares. He was right. He'd never seen anything like it. Will was  _feeding_ off of the young woman. He hadn't mistakenly seen antlers protruding from the older man's head.

Will raised his head and stared right at John, the blood pouring from and the flesh trapped in between his teeth as his lips parted in another exhilerated grin. John threw up between his legs, whole body jerking violently against the binds that trapped him in the face of this  _monster_.

The Willdigo.

His captor slowly rose, leaving Tara on the floor, her chest cavity ripped open and gaping, heart bitten into and left slightly out of place. He watches John with a cruel smirk as he moves closer, blade in a gloved hand again, and without saying anything, Will plunges the knife into John's chest. John lets out a terrified and pained yell, body convulsing as he tried to resist the urge to throw up again.

" _Disgusting_. _Weak_." Will all but growls out low, dragging the knife down in the same fashion he'd dealt Tara, yet it was more frenzied.

He kneels and tears the victim's shirt open so he can watch what he's doing, knife dragged around in a messy circle, blood welling up, which Will collects on his fingers. He raises his hand to John's mouth and forces his lips to part so the bound man can taste his own blood.

Will lets out a laugh as John struggles against him, eyes wide and petrified as he then cuts out his heart to sink his teeth into, the same as he'd done to Tara's. John Doe is dead by the time Will licks his fingers, teeth and lips clean.

At least he still had another heart to give to Hannibal to be cooked and used for their dinner party which was going to be thrown for his father's visit.

He places both crumpled bodies back into the trunk of his car, and once he's cleaned up some of the mess, he makes his way back home. It's late when he returns, but quiet. Perfect for him to drag the bodies down to the basement, stringing them up to drain the rest of their blood and prepare them for perfected cuts.

Bringing home the bacon, in a sense.

Will feels one sense of the pleasurable fog start to clear from his brain as he packs everything up, locking the basement door behind him, before making his way upstairs and into the bathroom to shower.

He can't wait to tell his husband about his day's proceedings, and awaits for his arrival home. In the midst of his killings, another kind of hunger had arose; one that only Hannibal could help him satiate.


	17. [30th July 2014 -- AU solo - post-dark!Will | post-Willdigo / Guilt]

There were many emotions that Will lacked during the dark phase that seemed to have encompassed him right before he'd murdered Tara and John Doe. He'd lacked empathy, for the most part, along with smaller intervals of sympathy, sadness, regret, and remorse.

But the one emotion he'd not felt at all, most, was guilt.

He hadn't felt guilty when murdering and cannibalizing parts of Tara and John Doe; he hadn't felt guilty when arguing with Reba Dolarhyde about the reasoning behind those two aforementioned murders; and he hadn't felt guilty about pushing his and Hannibal's pet out of their bed after Will had fucked him.

The fucking, for lack of a more eloquent term, had cleared up the last of the dark fog that had consumed Will Lecter for the past few days, and when he'd awoken the next morning, he felt refreshed and back to his semblance of normality.

Until his husband had, almost scornfully -- _it seemed to Will, at least_ \-- remarked that the younger man had been rude, and thus had resulted in gaining disappointment from the good doctor.

Well that didn't sit or bode well with Will. For the first time in three or four days, he actually felt a different emotion to dark glee, rage, and contempt. He feels the disappointment, towards himself, as if it's his own. His lack of empathy is no more, and he feels it like a deadweight settled heavily over his chest.

He doesn't think he's ever  _disappointed_ Hannibal before, in all the time the two had known each other. Sure, Will had done many things that would gain disappointment from many others -- _being with a cannibalistic serial killer, and endorsing the aforementioned by joining him and partaking in such activities himself, wasn't a way not to gain disappointment_ \-- but he honestly hadn't cared less at that idea.

It's different with Hannibal. With the way he is now, and still technically being a collared pet for the other, pleasing him is the only thing Will wants to achieve. He'd rather have the other man angry at him, than disappointed.

He also remembers certain things he'd said to Reba, to Cali and Rifle, and even to Wheel. He'd been no less than an asshole to them all, and the guilt that's starting to consume him like the darkness once had, is beginning to suffocate him. He wishes he could take it all back, but that's just not possible.

He could only hope that they'd all understand, one day, that he hadn't been his usual self.

He decides it's best if he disappears for the day. He would take all the dogs for a walk, but he doesn't think he deserves the kind of joy that being in the presence of the pack brings him, not right now. He conceeds that he deserves to be plagued by his thoughts and mind for the time being, alone, and so he takes a long walk, meaningless in its direction, only deciding to come home when he thinks it'll be quiet and the disapproval of his previous actions has been toned down thanks to his absence.


	18. [12th October 2014 -- AU solo - Crise de la Quarantaine.]

It takes a little over an hour for Will to make the drive from Baltimore to Wolf Trap. A journey he'd made numerous times before.

' _Just to clear my head_ ,' he thinks to himself. ' _Just to have some space_.'

He'd been accustomed to having nothing  _but_ space when he'd lived here a little over a year ago, so it made sense for a part of him to want to be able to return to solidarity.

That's why he hadn't quite been able to sell his little farmhouse, which he now looked upon with a faint smile. He makes his way inside, the place now the only reminder of his life before Hannibal Lecter. It's nothing more than a shell now.

He walks through each room, the smell not completely as it once was when he actively resided in the place, but it was still as familiar as ever.

Smell...

' _Did you just smell me?_ '

' _Difficult to avoid._ '

Will blocks the thought of Hannibal out of his mind. Maybe he was selfish for wanting space for a while, but his husband and himself seemed to fuse together in such a way that it was more often than not difficult to tell where one began and the other ended.

It would be suffocating to anyone else.

Will pauses in the living room, staring blankly at where his fishing lures used to be placed on his old desk. Closing his eyes, he lets the pendulum swing back and forth; once, twice, three times before coming to a stop and he allows his eyes to open, slightly out of focus to anyone else if they were watching him.

His face is also expressionless as he sees what his life would be like for him if he'd chosen not to let Hannibal in; into his heart nor his bed. And for the first time since his...argument...with James a couple of hours prior, he feels calm.

Nights are cold.

Days are endless.

Bleak, even, with no colours to brighten his day the way his husband does, or his kids do. Even with the dogs for company, he's  _alone_.

Lonely, as well.

He sits on his porch with his phantom glass of whiskey -- _two fingers' worth_ \-- and phantom pack of dogs lazing and lounging by his feet as they had often been wont to do, before. Here, he wouldn't mind quitting the FBI and BAU, revoking his respective positions as a Special Agent, a criminal profiler, and a lecturer.

He could very well move from Wolf Trap to Florida.

He would be content, he thinks to himself. With just the scent of the open and fresh sea air, mingling with boat motor oil.

When Will Lecter comes back to himself, he doesn't regret. Neither with imagining what his other life would be like, and most certainly not with the choice he'd made.

And so he returns to Baltimore, to his kids and the dogs and Hannibal. He always returns.


End file.
